Landmines
by Lacrimula Falsa
Summary: John knew that Sherlock often lacked things like understanding or tact. But there's only so much you can take from someone you call your best friend. One-shot.


**Landmines**

_by Lacrimula Falsa_

_Summary:_ John knew that Sherlock often lacked things like understanding or tact. But there's only so much you can take from someone you call your best friend.

_A/N.: _Finally, my second fic to be uploaded (and finished.) I'm not too much into the Sherlock fandom and it's been a while since I watched it so I might get some of the details wrong. (Like the exact look/layout of the flat.) But I'll do my very best. This isn't supposed to be Johnlock but can be if you want it to.

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Sherlock. I am trying to entertain, not to make profit.

* * *

"SHERLOCK!"

"John?"

"_Sherlock_. I swear by everything that's dear to me: If I _ever _find another human body part in the fridge I am going to_ kill you! _Slowly." John Watson was fuming.

It was the middle of the night but Sherlock was still sitting on the sofa, looking at _something _trough a magnifying glass. At John's irate rant, he looked up.

"John, is it necessary to make such a fuss over a single foot in plastic wrapping? I am trying to _concentrate_! This is a very…"

John wanted to strangle the detective.

"Sherlock. You're the most narcissistic, tactless, socially clueless, asinine _git_ I've ever known! I wake up from a horrible nightmare, then find a foot in the fridge and you…"

"You do realise that "asinine git" is a bit tautologous?"

For a moment it looked like John might murder the consulting detective, though Sherlock didn't notice.

"Landmines, Sherlock."

"Excuse me?"

"I was dreaming of landmines! Of the day my comrade was blown up by one. His foot came of and landed right next to me.* So how do you think finding a foot in the fridge made me feel after that? Oh, wait. You don't care! Because you'd rather RUN ALL OVER LONDON IN A PINK _TUTU_ THAN TRY TO BE UNDERSTANDING FOR ONCE!" John had been talking faster and faster, shouting at the end.

"John…"

"Just. Shut. Up."

The doctor took a deep breath and then said very calmly:

"I'll take a walk and clear my head before I suffocate you. And if that foot is still there when I come back -or if something like this happens _ever _ again- you can get a new flatmate…and another best friend."

"John…"

"Don't make it worse, Sherlock."

With that John grabbed his coat and left the house, barely refraining from slamming the door shut.

* * *

Minutes after John had started wandering around aimlessly, it started to rain. Heavily.

_Just great. I'm soaking wet, tired and it's dark. _Marvellous. _And Sherlock's probably studying his _whatever _in warmth and comfort. How I love it._

The doctors thoughts continued in that tenor for a while until he was brought out of his brooding by a throbbing ache in his leg. _Oh, and that's just what was missing to make this night _just _perfect._

John reluctantly decided that it was time to turn homewards. He wouldn't be able to walk further with that leg anyway and the cold rain wasn't helping any.

Still smouldering, he made his way back to 221b Baker Street.

* * *

When John arrived at the flat, it was dark and it looked like Sherlock had turned in. _Most likely sleeping like a baby._

If it wasn't for John's fundamentally good nature, he would have slammed the door shut and generally created a ruckus to rouse the consulting detective.

As it was, he quietly closed the door and shed his soaked coat, only now realising that in his anger he had been strolling around London in his pyjamas and slippers._No wonder I'm freezing and my leg hurts. At least it was dark, people might have thought I was drunk or something. Oh hell..._

His pyjamas were wet as well, so after drying himself of the Doctor put on another pair and simply went back to bed.

* * *

About an hour later, John woke up with a start, bathed in cold sweat.

Dreams about Sherlock's head in the fridge, he decided, were _not _better. If anything, they were worse. They just were that much more _actual. _

_Christ. I shouldn't have spent half the night planning the murder of Sherlock Holmes._

Lacking a better alternative, John padded into the kitchen to get a warm milk with honey or something.

* * *

When John entered the kitchen, the first thing he noticed was the candle burning on the counter. The candle was placed atop a muffin with blue icing, situated beside a mug, a teabag and a piece of paper.

Intrigued, John picked up the paper first. It read:

_John,_

_the tea in the teabag contains plants that are known to have a calming effect on most people. I hope it will help you sleep better._

_I removed the foot and the eyeballs from the fridge and threw out the dried hand in the cupboard. I hope you like the muffin and I'm sorry I upset you._

_I would gladly run all over London in sub rosa ballet wear if I could gain your forgiveness with that._

_Sleep well,  
Sherlock_

John couldn't help but smile. That was just so _typical._

He blew out the candle and took a bite of the small cake. _Wow, that's good. Maybe that tee's as tasty. _It turned out the tea was bitter as hell but actually made him drowsy.

_Okay John, back to bed._

* * *

When the doctor woke up, well rested for once, it was well past midday and the flat uncharacteristically quiet.

He entered the living room to find Sherlock actually sitting _quietly _in his armchair, looking like he had been waiting for him. A black shopping bag with a red logo John didn't recognise stood by his foot.

"Good morning. Did you…sleep well?" The detective actually looked nervous, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Like a baby."

"Does that...mean I'm forgiven?"

John gave the detective a long suffering smile. _Oh, why not be generous for once._

"Yes, you are."

Sherlock looked immensely relieved.

"Oh. Good! I was…hoping I would not have to…take more…_drastic_ measures."

"_Drastic measures…?_ John felt an alarm go off inside his head.

The detective looked like he was internally debating something, repeatedly glancing at the bag beside him.

Finally he dug into the bag…  
…and pulled out a pink tutu.

It was a long time before John could breathe normally again.

The End

* * *

_A/N.: _Okay, this didn't quite turn out as well as I hoped it would but I think it's alright. Please let me know what you think.

*I have thankfully never been even remotely close to an exploding landmine, so I don't know if this would be possible but I assume it would.


End file.
